I see that German landscape, said Austerlitz, as it was described by earlier travellers, the great river not yet regulated in any way, flooding its banks in places, salmon leaping in the water, crayfish crawling over the fine sand; I see Victor Hugo’s sombre pen-and-ink drawings of the Rhine castles, and Joseph Mallord Turner sitting on a folding stool not far from the murderous town of Bacharach, swiftly painting his water-colours; I see the deep waters of Lake Vyrnwy and the people of Llanwyddyn submerged in them; and I see, said Austerlitz, the great army of mice, a grey horde said to have plagued the German countryside, plunging into the river and swimming desperately, their little throats raised only just above the water, to reach the safety of the island.